Page 22 of Snatched By the Sandman

“He’s always so mean to me,” Phantasos pouts.

“Honestly, Nyxion,” Zenya scolds. “Glitz n Goddess was so nice to come to your little show. And you haven’t even asked her if you can watch her do hers.”

“Oh, excuse me, Glitz n. Goddess…” I drawl, baring my teeth. “Which iconic legend are we honoring today? Fairy Godmother or Lady Glitter Sparkles?”

Phantasos gasps and covers his mouth, tearing up for added effect. By fucking Zeus!

“Seems someone needs to work on his people skills.” She soothes him again, wiping away his tears as he blubbers to her.

My plight is worse when Morpheus turns to Zenya, and she blushes, the right side of her body igniting for him—stars glimmer, hearts beat, and rainbows swell their arcs more.

“Least I’m not a drama queen,” I mutter.

Phantasos snorts. “Says the walking bone daddy. And the shadow showman,” he adds, gesturing to Morpheus.

“When’s the last time you all had a family dinner?” wonders Zenya with a lift of her brows.

The three of us all turn to her with equal parts chagrin and awe. Of course, Phantasos is the first to pipe up. “Does it count if we spent the whole meal throwing food at one another?”

“You’re the one who decided to turn the dining table into your personal stage,” I spit out, flicking my eyes down to the damn chaise he sits upon like he’s fucking Dionysus.

Touching his fingertips to his chest, Phantasos guffaws, “You’re lucky I saw fit to grace you with my presence.”

Morpheus snickers. “Was that the night Nyxion declared war over the last piece of pie?”

“I like pie.”

Zenya dumbfounds us again with her too-innocent comment, an obvious neutral statement during our showdown. She may as well have said ‘Stop fighting, you’re all pretty’.

As soon as she nudges Phantasos’s head off her lap and rises from the chaise lounge, I register she’s not going to think twice about standing—in the open air. Far too trusting.

But I flex my wings and command a throne of bones and teeth to form for her. She drops in a three-second free fall that ends when Morpheus’s shadows catch her, followed by my throne. I glare daggers at him, and the bastard shrugs. A throne of bones and teeth has far more style than his goddamn shadows.

While rubbing her arms along the femur bone armrests and swinging her braid onto her chest, Zenya appraises us all. “I think it’s time we all sit down and have a nice dinner together, don’t you, Nyxion?”

Oh, my little killer is testing me. She knows this is my realm, and my brothers are merely trespassers. In submitting the proposal to me, she’s acknowledging my ruling comes first but also asking me to play host. My cock throbs from her shy smirk and her heady eyes baiting me with her delicate lashes at half-mast.

An idea forms in my mind, and my wings nearly vibrate at the fantasy coming together. Especially when Morpheus will be watching the whole time.

With a knowing grin, I approach my mad, little dreamer, cup her chin, and slowly tilt her head toward me. “Very well, sweet Z. But this time, you will be joining our fun, little show.”

“Is this really necessary?”she protests as I fix the fang clamps to her pretty nipples, already hard as pink stones for me.

Bone skull back in place, I smirk down at her and give each bud an approving tweak before showing her exactly what the fangs will do. As soon as they clamp down with a subtle vibration, Zenya hisses sharply through her teeth.

“They need a reminder of who commands your desire.”

“Show off.” She wrinkles her nose, her oceanic eyes deepening.

“Hardly,” I snort. “They will understand who you belong to. I’m merely asserting my rightful claim.”

“And I’m the pretty prize of a pawn.”

Smiling wryly, I grip her hips with the sheer fabric of the night dress falling down the sides of her body. “If I merely saw you as a pawn, Zenya Alice Myre, I would not have given you a throne of bones.” I fasten the clasp at her waist, a clasp of teeth holding the transparent dress in place while ensuring her ripe breasts are on display.

“Your competition doesn’t require a spectacle,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and blowing a dark purple strand of hair out of her face.

Sweeping a hand along the lacy thong, I twist my lips into a grin as she shrieks, then moans from the clamp of hand bones I’ve placed over her sex. Like a small chastity cage of phalanges curving over her folds. Lowering myself, I breathe in the dark opium aroma between her legs.

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